


Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm's End

by rc6188



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Gendry is not a rash idiot, an actual happy ending, no rejection (thank god), post 8x04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 01:36:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18729052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rc6188/pseuds/rc6188
Summary: “I’m not Gendry Rivers anymore,” Gendry said, unable to keep the frantic edge of excitement from his voice, “I’m Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End. By order of the Queen.”Arya turned to fully look at him then, her expression unreadable, but soft—softer than he’d ever seen on her. She looked genuinely happy for him, and for some reason, the little smile that she gave him made Gendry happier than any Dragon Queen telling him he was a lord could.OR: In which Gendry is not a rash idiot who proposes while drunk and actually thinks before he talks. Fix-it fic. 8x04.





	Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm's End

_Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm’s End._

He whispered it to himself again, drawing out the syllables. It sounded foreign on his tongue, like his dirty mouth from Flea Bottom wasn’t made to utter words like these. The disbelief was still washing over him in waves, mingling with the burgeoning excitement. 

Gendry had been terrified when the Dragon Queen had called out his name, for at that moment, he was sure that she would have him punished for the acts that his father—the father he’s never known—committed. But instead, the Dragon Queen had legitimized him on the spot, making him Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End. Then the crowd had cheered, wine cups clinking in the air, and Gendry had found himself brimming with happiness, and for once in his life, proudness. 

But now, as he stepped out from the dining hall, leaving the suffocating warmth and rowdy cheers of men, and into the biting cold, a different sense of terror filled him. Gendry was scared, he realized, scared because he was no lord. He was just a poor boy from Flea Bottom who’d seen the light from his forge more than the light of the sun. Gendry did not have the faintest clue about table manners, nevertheless ruling a kingdom. An unexpected wave of anger washed over him, he’d never asked for this. He did not want to be the Lord of Storm’s End, he only wanted a name—a name so that he could be worthy of being Arya’s family. 

_Arya._

Arya Stark of Winterfell. Gendry felt his heart clench at the thought of her. She’d been dominating his thoughts as of late, and he found that no matter how hard he tried, he could not get the image of curious grey eyes and soft full lips out of his head. In fact, he was looking for her now. Gendry, although if questioned would not admit, had spent the better half of the feast wondering where she was, his eyes scanning the masses of bodies restlessly. 

He had an inkling of where she could be, and Gendry found himself walking briskly down a hall to the storeroom that she enjoyed doing target practice in. 

He was about to turn when an arrow whizzed past him. Gendry leapt backwards, a surprised yelp escaping his throat. He placed both of his hands up in mock surrender, a smile stretching across his lips. 

“Don’t shoot,” Gendry said, turning towards Arya who had just lowered her bow. 

As he made his way towards her, he could see a small grin grace her delicate features and it made Gendry’s heart flutter in a way that could not be blamed on wine. 

“It’s nighttime, it’s freezing, and everyone’s celebrating,” Gendry began, coming up behind her, “you should be celebrating with them.”

“I am celebrating.” She replied, drawing another arrow and releasing it. It hit the bull’s eye, as he had expected. 

Gendry nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I am too.” 

“I’m not Gendry Rivers anymore,” Gendry said, unable to keep the frantic edge of excitement from his voice, “I’m Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End. By order of the Queen.”

Arya turned to fully look at him, her expression unreadable, but soft—softer than he’d ever seen on her. She looked genuinely happy for him, and for some reason, the little smile that she gave him made Gendry happier than any Dragon Queen telling him he was a lord could. 

“Congratulations.”

Gendry could not help it. He kissed her then—whether out of pure joy, excitement, or just an overwhelming fondness for Arya Stark he could not tell. And she had kissed him back, her own lips warm and pliant beneath his. 

Gendry pulled back, a million thoughts and emotions threatening to spill over. 

“I don’t know how to be lord of anything,” Gendry started, eyes steeled on Arya’s grey ones, “I hardly know how to use a fork.” 

Arya huffed out a small laugh at that. 

“All I know is that you’re beautiful, and I love you and none of it will be worth anything if you’re not with me.”

 _Seven bloody hells he’s had too much to drink._ Gendry could not believe those words had just left his mouth. He felt a flush crawl up his neck. 

Gendry imagined he looked quite hysterical right now and he sure felt it as well, but it was too late to take it all back. “So be with me.”

His eyes roamed her features, desperate to see any sort of affirmation. But instead, Gendry was met with a growing sadness in Arya’s grey eyes. Her brows had drawn and the smile had died on her lips. 

His own grin faded. Gendry backtracked, “Look, Arya, I’ve never wanted to be a lord—I’ve only ever wanted a family and a name to call my own.” 

“Gendry, I’m not—” 

“I know you don’t want to be a lady, Arya,” he interrupted, eyes pleading, “and I’m not asking you to be mine.”

Gendry took both of her hands into his own. “All I’m asking for is the chance to be with you, to be your family, Arya,” he whispered, voice cracking at the end, “if you’ll have me.”

A moment passed and Gendry felt the panic begin to crawl up his throat. But then Arya’s eyes softened again, melting into a pool of emotions he could not read.

She squeezed his fingers with her gloved ones. “Okay.”

Gendry let out a long exhale that broke into a breathy laugh. 

“But,” Arya began, a gloved hand coming up to cup his face, “I must first ride to King’s Landing.”

“I’ll come with—”

“No,” she cut him off. “You stay here, in Winterfell, and if—when I come back, we’ll figure it out.”

Gendry wanted to protest, wanted to tell her that he could never imagine leaving her again, but he knew it was battle he would lose. 

So instead, he settled on, “Promise me, Arya. Promise me you’ll come back.”

Arya looked down at their joined hands, hesitation etched in her features. But when she gazed up at him again, the hesitation had been replaced by determination and something that looked a lot like love, much to Gendry’s surprise. 

Arya rose onto her tiptoes and softly pressed her lips to his. “I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, Gendry. I appreciate his boldness, I truly do (the poor kid forgot his own last name because he was so damn excited), but he knows better than this! He knows better than anyone that Arya would never agree to being a lady and sitting in a castle all day. But I'm pretty confident that D&D aren't done with their relationship yet (we might even get a happy ending). 
> 
> I was so frustrated about how they ended the cut with these two that I had to just go crank this short piece out after it. Hopefully it soothes some of your guys' hearts like it did mine. As always, thank you for reading. <3


End file.
